36.3 Picture
Her regular therapist is back. It would be a good thing if she could focus on anything other then the woman's eggplant coloured finger nails. Yes...I Can-Can, is what what that particular shade is called. She knows this because the bottle is sitting there on the corner of the woman's desk.
Not that they are glaring. They aren't. In fact they perfectly match the woman's blazer, which sets off her hazel eyes.
It's that the effect is so calculated. It makes the hairs on the back of Cass' neck stand up.
Of course, it could just be that she's finding these sessions more and more tedious, but it seems like she's walked into something she doesn't understand this time. There is something about the woman that has changed since their last meeting.
“Do you have a boyfriend, Cassandra?” the smooth, cultured voice enquires. It's meant to be calm and inviting, but to her it just sounds condescending. She notices the way the woman moves and...oh. The therapist has a new boyfriend. Or maybe girlfriend. Cass isn't so sheltered as to not consider that possibility.
“No.” She doesn't elaborate. There is no need to go into the disasters that have marked her very few efforts at dating. Never mind Batman's rather peculiar behaviour when the subject has come up in the past.
“Why is that?” the woman queries, peering at her client as if the girl is a particularly interesting bug. Maybe that is uncharitable, but at the moment, Cass definitely feels like a bug.
She scowls, and her arms cross over her chest. Very basic body language showing her discomfort with the subject, but the woman is simply watching her, clearly ignoring the non-verbal signal. “Too....messy.” Okay, that is without a doubt a huge understatement. Between her being able to read the other's intentions before they say one word and Batman getting upset about her choices, it just really isn't worth it. At all. Besides, she's not the only that could get hurt by the fall out of a failed relationship, so it's just safer.
The woman is steepling those fingers now and that damned colour is distracting her again. Why is that? She doesn't get distracted like this on Patrol. But then, Patrol is as much about survival as it is keeping Gotham safe.
An odd thought occurs to her, maybe she's come to associate this office with “safe.” If she is, that...could be disturbing. Or very good. The woman would probably think it's the latter but the Bat in her is screaming that it's the former.
The therapist jars her out of her thoughts. “You know, that which is worthwhile is rarely easy. Or tidy.”
Cass pulls her arms a little tighter across here chest, not quite glaring at the woman and her implication that the girl is a coward. Or perhaps the only person implying that is Cass herself. Could it be that on some level she feels like she's running away from the issue?
The scowl deepens.
“Not now,” she declares. No, not now. There are other things that take priority in her life. Batman had been right about that. Right now, the notion of a romantic relationship is at the bottom of a very long list.
“If not now, then when do you think you'd be inclined to reconsider it?”
The girl says nothing to that. She contents herself with a disgusted look, which the therapist doesn't even seem to register. This is getting to be something of a pattern, one Cass doesn't like at all. Especially not when the woman moves like that in her chair. She's thought of something, something she thinks is clever, which means it's something that is supposed to make things better, but will invariably frustrate the hell out of the current Batgirl.
“I think we should try something different. For next week, as we are almost out of time.” Those dark fingernails are tracing invisible patterns on the desk top. “I want you to write out what you expect from a relationship, why you think now is not a good time and when you think would be a good time to revisit it.”
Cass blinks. Write. Her? Talking is hard enough but using a pen and paper, that's damned near impossible.
“You told me before I left that you have a dictation program on your computer.”
Unless she used that. Damn.
The girl hunches her shoulders unhappily. She doesn't want any homework. She has enough claims on her time. Even being here is a chore. There are open cases that need her attention. And training is very important. She could be restocking her utility belt.
She doesn't wince at the last one, but even Cass has to admit that was weak. “Fine,” she grumbles belligerently. Maybe there will be some kind of world ending catastrophe and she won't have to worry about it.
Fugitively she glances at the clock on the woman's desk. Two more very long minutes to go. Movement. The therapist gets up and moves around the desk, which makes her leery. Her instincts are screaming for her to stand up, to be in a defensible position, but this woman has no fighting skill, even sitting Cass would be able to subdue her with ease. So it is that she holds herself very, very still as the woman takes her hand and presses....the bottle of nail polish into it?
Cass blinks up at the woman.
With a smile her therapist explains. “You've been looking at my nails all session. You can take it, see if you like it.”
For the life of her she can't imagine why she takes it, but she does and with a nod she extracts herself from the couch. There's still time in the session, but she's done. There isn't anything to say and she has that ridiculous assignment to think about.
And her new nail polish.